


Chris

by felisblanco



Series: The Doors of Time [14]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Child Abuse, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 10:09:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7044079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felisblanco/pseuds/felisblanco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short overview of Chris's life before he met Jensen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chris

**Author's Note:**

> Short timestamp for The Doors of Time that I wrote in a notebook years ago and then posted as a comment fic in 2013 but it never made its way to AO3 until now.

The earliest memory Chris has of his father is a purple face and an open mouth screaming words he doesn't understand. Then lying flat on the floor, his head ringing. Everything hurts and he doesn't know why. He starts crying but there the memory stops, like the lights are just turned off.

The only memory he has of his mother is being held in her arms, so tight it hurts. The world trembles but he won't realize until later that it's because she's crying. He never finds out what happens to her. His aunts call it a tragedy, the reverend God's will. His father doesn't say anything, not then, not ever. She is never mentioned in their home again.

Chris hates school. He hates being small and weak and so easily picked on. He hates the teachers that whisper but never say anything out loud. He hates his clothes that smell of cheap detergent and cigarettes. He hates his father.

He hates his father's hand, always heavy and hard like a rock. He hates his father's voice, rough and sarcastic. He hates the words his father says and how he never finds his own to answer.

Chris is thirteen years old when it happens. It's a day like any other: pointless, angry, hateful. His dad throws him into a wall and he curls up on the floor, risking a glance to calculate where the hit might come and that's when he sees it. A small tremble in his father's hand. Only for a fraction of a second, that's all the time he gets before the punches rain over him. But after that he looks for it, that tremor, until one day he spots it again. And again. And then it doesn't stop, instead it spreads, up his father's arm and over to the other side. Soon his legs start jerking, then bouncing up and down the more he tries to keep them still. 

The day Chris sees his father's head twitch he knows it's time. His dad's got him by the collar of his shirt, screaming the usual insults that Chris refuses to listen to. He's in Chris's face, spittle hitting Chris's flushed skin, and he's raising his fist for the blow.

Chris throws his hand up and catches it, twists hard, then pushes back. The look on his father's face when he finds himself on the floor is hilarious. "You little–" he starts but Chris kicks him in the knee and he goes down again, astonished. When Chris raises his fist to hit his dad, preferably until he's lying cold out on the floor, his dad throws up one hand, palm up, in defense. The hand is trembling like a leaf, still strong but his control, his power, is lost. Chris stops. He steps back, turns around and walks out, leaving his dad cursing him in a shaky voice.

It's Parkinson's and the decline is rapid. Every day Chris tells himself he's leaving but every day he makes his dad breakfast, lunch and dinner, feeding him when the trembling gets too bad. He can't explain it but standing in front of his father, this man he's been afraid off his whole life, with his dad's fearful eyes staring at him, knowing his son could just as well cut his throat with the razor in his hand as shave the stubble... Something shifts in Chris. The hate fades, replaced by pity. He thinks to himself, if he can look at this man and not kill him, he's not the things his dad accused him of being. Not any of them. He's strong, he's kind, he's compassionate. And he can look any bully in the eye and see the pathetic loser that lurks under the surface.

The day after his dad's funeral, Chris throws his belongings into his father's truck and heads for New York. He's supposed to have a passenger, some kid going to Juilliard, but he ends up going alone when the kid doesn't show up. It's a long drive but he doesn't mind. He's got a lot to think about. He has no idea what lies ahead but he has a feeling it's going to be something spectacular.


End file.
